


All of You. All the Time.

by Bluespartan114



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:48:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluespartan114/pseuds/Bluespartan114
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re an evil sod, you know that?” John turned his head to face his partner, one hand resting on his still-heaving chest.</p><p>“Yes, but I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. More fun this way, wouldn’t you agree? Maybe I’ll let you top next time.” With a grunt, Sherlock rose off the bed and started looking for a pair of pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All of You. All the Time.

**Author's Note:**

> Not overly great at writing porn, but practice makes perfect, right? Feedback is always appreciated!

Sherlock reveled in the feeling of the hot water rolling down his back. With two hands he swept his dark hair back, splashing the tile behind him. His tongue darted out and caught some of the liquid waterfalling down his lips. 

He sighed deeply, leaning his head against the cool wall next to him. His biggest mystery lay like an open book before him, but the answer eluded him every step of the way. All the signs were there, blatant and obvious but he couldn’t get them all to come together in one neat package. It was frustrating, because it should be so easy, and it was thrilling—the most fun he’d had in a long time, really—because it wasn’t easy. Things weren’t just falling into his lap because he observed them in just the right fashion. 

John Watson; his partner and flat-mate. The man who infuriatingly insisted that ‘he wasn’t gay,’ but whenever he thought Sherlock wasn’t looking, casted longing, lustful stares in his direction. Sherlock noticed them not only because he knew when someone was looking at him, but also because he was casting similar glances—albeit more furtively—in the good doctor’s direction. John Watson was also the biggest puzzle to put together.

Scratch that—John wasn’t much of a puzzle. Sherlock had him completely figured out within a day. 

Most of the company he kept—Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, even Angelo—knew that fancied men. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to hide it because frankly, who cared? So when he brought John to the flat and Mrs. Hudson assumed he was finally settling down with his partner. John hadn’t been rattled, offended or disgusted, but more embarrassed by the exchange. The same went for their little chat in Angelo’s restaurant. Sherlock enjoyed a free meal when he ate there, so it was only logical that when—if—he ever had a date, he’d bring him there. John had been probing for information, asking about his love interests, and Sherlock returned the favor a little too sloppily for his liking; the lady in pink occupied too much of his cerebrum to flirt properly.

Or maybe he just wanted to take it easy. When Sherlock Holmes flirted, it was straight-forward and strong. No beating around the bush. With John it was…different. Sherlock surmised it was related to his sister’s turbulent marriage. John had enough issues dealing with the war and the desire to be put back into the thick of things and he didn’t want a bad relationship to complicate it further. His sister’s alcoholism tore John apart to the point where he wanted to shy away from any kind of romantic or physical connection. Insisting that he wasn’t gay encouraged people to leave him alone about the entire thing; allowed John to continue surreptitiously checking out his rear. 

Sherlock wanted to end John’s little coy game. Oh, sure, it wasn’t boring, but he figured if things would just come out into the open they could have so much fun together. The self-proclaimed genius believed it would be a very long time before either of them was bored again.

So Sherlock was planning; planning carefully. That was the reason he was taking his time in the shower. John would be home in precisely a minute and a half and he wanted to be freshly wet when he did. Sherlock loved the way John looked at him when they were in the rain—his eyes darkened and needy. It was a toss-up as to who it turned on more. With exactly twenty seconds to go, the tall man shut off the faucet, wrapped a dark blue towel around his waist—making sure it was loose and dipping low over his well-crafted hips. Water was still falling down his porcelain skin in rivulets, crafting pathways that John’s eyes were sure to trace.

Ten seconds to go. He could hear the doctor plodding his way up the stairs. Obviously his day hadn’t gone too well—perhaps…perhaps he could do something to cheer him up. Sherlock loved when John smiled; always had the urged to trace those wonderful lines around his lips with such gentleness it could deepen the grin.

Just as John’s head crested the stairs, Sherlock stepped into the living room, holding the towel round his backside. John’s eyes were downcast as he walked into the room, but they raised immediately when he sensed someone in the room.

Sherlock paused as if he just noticed John mid-step. 

His little ensemble indeed had the desired effect. Keys in his hand, John’s eyes followed a slow, savory trail starting from Sherlock’s long, sinewy legs up his barely covered waist, his still-wet torso and finally to the messy mop of hair that clung to his neck and shoulders. John’s mouth worked like it was trying to form words, but a connection was severed somewhere between it and his brain. 

With the barest twitch at the corner of his mouth, Sherlock cocked his head. “Problem?” he asked, his voice deep and sultry. 

“Uh—well, I—erm…what are you doing, then?” John stuttered, one hand going to the back of his neck as he tried to glance around the room, pretending like he hadn’t been staring.

“I was just showering. Isn’t it obvious?” Sherlock pointed a thumb back at the bathroom, where a little steam was still filtering out.

“Yes, I—uh—I—see that.” A cough and John was still avoiding looking at the general area around the consulting detective. “Why don’t—why don’t you go on and get dressed, yeah? I’ll, um, make some tea.”

Brows contracting for a second, eyes narrowing, Sherlock took a step forward. “Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

John coughed again. “Well, a—a little, yes, maybe so could you, uh—”

Taking another step forward, the dark-haired man let the towel slip a little bit more. “Why?” he asked again.

“Why? Because you’re—you’re naked.”

“Only partially. And why would that make you uncomfortable?” they were merely inches apart now, John completely frozen in place. His eyes were locked onto Sherlock’s, a million emotions flickering through them. A faint tint of pink was appearing on John’s cheeks and his breath was catching in his throat. Excellent, his plan was working. Sherlock leaned in a little closer, staring intently, waiting for an answer. The doctor couldn’t do much except back up a step—mostly because his back hit the doorframe. Sherlock was never more than a hairs breadth from him. “Is it because you see something you like and are simply unprepared to act on it? Or because you’re worried about offending me? Hm? Which is it?” The questions came in such a rapid-fire way, all John could do was stutter. “Shall we find out?” He closed the final gap and placed his lips gently on John’s. His eyes were still wide-open, gauging the reaction.

John was stiff at first, shock written well across his face. After a moment, it seemed to fade because his eyes slid closed and he increased pressure. 

That was all Sherlock needed. With one hand he secured the towel around his waist so he could cup John’s face with both. His lips were soft and plush and an absolute delight to run his tongue over. The doctor moaned softly and allowed Sherlock to do whatever he pleased with his mouth. The taller man drew John closer and tasted every inch he could get his tongue on.

The flush was deeper on John’s face when Sherlock pulled away. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Shall we use the bedroom? Or would you prefer the couch?” He dipped his head low and ran his tongue up the side of John’s neck, stopping only for the occasional bite.

“Sher—Sherlock, are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure, don’t be a pansy. I never do anything without being sure. Bedroom it is, then.” Sherlock grasped John’s hand lightly and led the way, giving his hips a little extra sway.

Once inside the bedroom, Sherlock pushed his partner onto the bed. A smirk on his face, Sherlock straddled his hips and kissed him again. This time there was no hesitation on John’s part. He returned it fiercely, his hands splaying across Sherlock’s thin, but muscular back. “God, Sherlock—ah!” Pushing John’s collar aside, he sank his teeth into the tender flesh of his shoulder. 

“Mm…love when you say my name…” he whispered into John’s ear, sending shivers down the other man’s spine. His hands made quick work of the button-down shirt and it was cast aside without a care. “So beautiful. Shame to hide it beneath clothing.” A gentle trail of hot kisses followed the curvature of John’s neck, down his chest and captured one nipple. 

“Ooh!” John moaned, arching his back a little as Sherlock bit, sucked and licked, teasing the sensitive skin on one before moving to the other. John’s hard-on was pressing incessantly against his thigh and Sherlock rocked his hips forward, eliciting another moan. 

Nails were raked down John’s side, hooking in the waistband of his pants at the navel and deftly undoing the fly. Sherlock was working faster now, his lips licking every inch of skin they could. John’s hands were fisted in his hair, loving every second and begging for more. His pants were tossed aside to join in shirt and there he was, in all his glory, his erection standing proud and strong and eager.

Tongue darting out, Sherlock teased the tip, watching John’s reaction. 

“Oh, please, Sherlock…”

“Please what?” He flatted his tongue and ran it up the other side. His fingers grasped the base lightly as he took the head in his mouth. 

“God, Sherlock—suck me, fuck me, anything, please!” Smirking around the cock in his mouth, the genius took it farther down his throat, swirling his tongue around the shaft. John tasted so good, felt so good writhing beneath him. “Oh, just like that…” Sherlock’s head bobbed alternatively with his hand, pumping John to the point of release and then stopping. A keening noise came from the doctor when Sherlock raised his head, letting John watch his erection slide from his mouth. 

Sherlock stood up, letting the towel pool around his feet. A smile crossed his face when he saw how John looked at him; how needy, how lustful. If possible, it served to make his own erection even harder. Teasingly, Sherlock gave his own dick a few strokes before leaning over to grab a small bottle off the nightstand. “Do you want it, John?” he asked, covering the other man’s body with his own. He aligned their hips so that he was caressing John’s cock with his own. He loved the feeling of the soldier arching up into his, grasping his arm, wrapping his strong legs around his. “Do you want me?” Flipping open the cap, he let a little of the lubricant coat his fingers. One found its way down to John’s ridiculously well-toned ass. One finger gently teased his entrance.

John’s hands came up to lace behind the man’s neck, pulling him down for another kiss. “Yes, I want it. I want you. All of you. All the time. Please.” His entire body was quivering, wanting, waiting. He moved his hips to encourage the genius just shut up and bloody take him.

Sighing, Sherlock went back to nibbling on John’s neck as he pushed past the ring of muscle, slowly working his finger in and out. Hissing, John’s nails dug into the shoulders he was clinging so desperately to. A second finger. John cried out a little this time. It hurt, it burned but it felt so good because it was Sherlock doing that to him. He didn’t care how bad the pain would be, he just wanted it so bad. Sherlock could feel it, could see it.

As much as he wanted to continue teasing and taking him time, he needed the recourse as much as the man below him. Sherlock coated himself, pushing into John. “Shh, shh…” he coaxed into his ear as the other man’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth turned up in a grimace. Tenderly, Sherlock stroked his hair, placing feather-light kisses along his jawline. He moved slowly, paying careful attention to the heaving of John’s chest. “Relax. Just relax. There.” When John’s back settled into the mattress, he pulled out, loving the wanton moan he received. With one snap of his hips, he was fully sheathed in John’s warmth, both of them groaning deep. 

One arm snaked under John’s hips, the other remained twined in his hair. Sherlock thrust, in an out, harder, faster, kissing and biting and leaving every mark he could on his lover. Nails raked down his back, hands gripped his ass, making him move faster. His breath was coming more raggedly. John’s cries of pleasure were changing, getting louder and he became more insistent on the intensity. “Sherlock, ahh—I’m gonna—”

Harder, harder; his cock twitched when John clamped down on him, moaning and crying his name as he came, covering his stomach with his own seed.

Sherlock kept going until he felt the tension pooling in his stomach, his own orgasm close at hand. He captured John’s lips again, tongues fighting in one last duel for dominance and Sherlock was cumming, buried to the hilt in John’s ass. He continued grinding until the last wave of pleasure passed. It was with a heavy reluctance he pulled out and rolled onto the bed next to John. 

“You’re an evil sod, you know that?” John turned his head to face his partner, one hand resting on his still-heaving chest.

“Yes, but I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. More fun this way, wouldn’t you agree? Maybe I’ll let you top next time.” With a grunt, Sherlock rose off the bed and started looking for a pair of pants.

“Next time?” John sat up quickly. “There’s a ‘next time?’”

Pulling his trousers up, Sherlock cast a suggestive look over his shoulder and left the room.


End file.
